Jet

by Russell Blake

  ~ ~ ~

  David tied his scuba harness and the dive bag containing his fins and mask to the front mooring rope as he waited for the lights to go off. When they did, he expertly shimmied up the heavy line from the mooring to the ship’s bow, unnoticed amid the commotion from the power outage. He was over the front railing within ninety seconds and had his backpack open within another ten, extracting a silenced pistol and an FN P90 submachine gun with a sound suppressor.

  He inserted a micro bud into his ear and activated it, then slid a cell phone from the bag and made a call.

  Within thirty seconds, the ear bud crackled, and he heard Jet’s whispered voice.

  “He’s inside the salon. Three guards around him. No. Wait. He’s heading upstairs. Maybe to the entertainment deck, or maybe to the command center level on the bridge.”

  “On my way,” he breathed back as he crept to the superstructure, his neoprene-sheathed feet silent on the hull’s slick surface.